Escape
by brindlegreyhound
Summary: A oneshot, based on Erik's rescue in the movie,musical with my own twist. 1st phic. Feel free to pick it apart as you see fit. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


_There is no escape_, the boy thought sadly as he was quietly led by a noose like a strange travesty of a dog. The man that led him carefully unlocked the door to the large metal cage. He yanked the door open, and, with little ceremony, removed the noose and shoved the boy roughly to the floor. He quickly locked the boy inside, and tossed the rope carelessly to the ground.

"Master Erik, please, can I have—" The man's body went rigid for a moment, but Erik shrugged. He went to a corner of the tent, picked something up, and threw it into the cage. The man smiled wickedly at the boy, absentmindedly fingering his greased beard, as if daring him to ask for anything else. When the boy did not respond, or even look at him, he left.

The boy sighed as he rubbed his throat; the skin was calloused from the noose. He looked around the cage. It was the same as it had always been. Mildewing straw provided little warmth or comfort from the cobblestone floor. The bars were unnecessarily thick. The boy himself had an emaciated appearance to him, and his body looked haggard. The trousers he wore were thin and dirty, and his skin was covered by days of stable muck. A rough sack, with two tiny eyeholes that allowed him to see, covered his face. The boy scrambled towards the center of his prison for the object that the man had thrown in.

He reached gingerly for his only real procession, a stuffed monkey that he had snatched from a girl a year ago. The beating he had received had been fierce, and he was surprised the gypsies had allowed him to keep it. He flinched at the memory, his fingers unconsciously tracing the thin lashing scars on his chest. _It was worth it_, he thought smugly, _I own something_.

He could hear the activity of the carnival. His chest tightened and his breathing became shallow as he heard Erik luring the audience into his tent. His deep voice had an almost seductive lilt. "Come, my children. Come and see the horror of the beast! Come, come and see the Devil's Child."

The crowd filtered in, one by one, jeering and spitting at him. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, he was unnerved. The assembly, mostly of Parisians, seemed to loathe him. _How can they hate me? They don't know me._ He had never felt such hostility from a crowd before.

But he did nothing. He sat, holding the toy, waiting for Erik to enter the cage. It was only the first show of the night.

The tent was hot from the crowding bodies, and smelled of an acrid mixture of urine and perfume. A cheer, strangled by air and room, rippled through the assembly. The boy knew Erik had entered the tent. The crowd parted, with difficulty, and Erik walked to the cage, wooden baton in hand.

"What lays before you is an abomination, little more than a dumb beast! For though he seems like a boy, the Seers know he is the spawn of a French maiden and an Incubus. The being before you, the Devil's Child!" He called theatrically, all the while working the lock.

He opened the door just wide enough for himself and shut it behind him. He was careful to lock the door. The crowd was silent, waiting for the show.

The boy sighed, and knew better than to try to protest. He stood slowly, and the crowd gasped at his sallow skeletal frame. He turned toward the man, and, without any enthusiasm, stepped in the man's direction. There was a hiss from the audience, and Erik lunged. The baton struck the boy's already bruised ribs. The boy collapsed, gasping in pain.

"I control him," Erik said simply, his eyes wide. He pulled the child up roughly by his shoulders, and, without theatrics, jerked the bag off his head.

The crowd screamed in horror at the shock of the boy's face.

The boy just closed his eyes, waiting for the coins to pelt his skin. And they did, almost on cue, to Erik's obvious delight.

The crowd filtered out the way they filtered in, leaving a ghost of their collective sent in the room. Erik gathered the coins, and threw the boy's sack at him. He then left the cage, making sure to carefully lock it. The boy, rubbing his sore ribs, simply put the sack back on and returned to the toy monkey.

There was a brief break before he heard Erik's rehearsed purring. "Come, come and see the Devil's child."

The boy clacked the cymbals the monkey held in a musical rhythm, trying to drown out the sound of the entering people. But this group, he noticed, was different. He turned, slightly flummoxed, and saw a group of girls, all wearing the same plain uniform. _Schoolgirls by the looks of them_, he thought. They were staring at him, most jeering with the rest of the crowd.

But one blond-headed girl caught his attention. She was watching him, her hands wrapped around the bars of the cage, not in fear, but pity. He cocked his head, as if he had never seen anything quite like her. He was puzzled by her. No one has ever looked at me like that.

He turned from her, and continued to tap the cymbals together.

Again, as before, as it was every night, the crowed cheered as Erik finally entered the tent. He repeated the same speech, while unlocking the cage. Again, he stepped inside, baton in hand. The boy noticed something new within the monotony.

His heart skipped a beat, and he forgot to move. Erik rushed him, violently kicking the monkey from his hand, crushing several of the child's fingers in the process. The boy hardly noticed. _He didn't lock the door! _Angered by the boy's lack of response, Erik pushed him to his side and brought the baton to his ribs.

Thump. His side exploded in pain, but he made no sound.

Thump. A numb sense of peace overcame the boy_. It will all be over soon. _

Thwack. He felt one of his ribs break, and little popping lights of pain clouded the boy's vision.

He found himself pulled forcibly upright, and felt the mask being torn away. The boy kept his eyes open this time, ears deaf to the crowd's predictable shout. He was focused on the girl. She did not scream, or even react, but continued to watch with a mixture of pity and regret. The boy hardly felt the coins hit him. He hardly noticed the crowd leaving. He watched the girl turn slowly towards the exit. He saw Erik bending over to pick up the coins.

And he pounced. He reached through the bars for the noose that Erik had thrown to the floor. Without hesitation, and with a bestial snarl, he jumped on Erik's back brought the noose around his neck.

The man clawed at the rope as best he could, but the boy had brought his head back into a brutal angle, making it impossible for the man to fight him. He felt the man's fear and his desperation, and, oddly, the boy felt renewed. A rush, a strange sense of accomplishment, overcame the boy as the man slowly stopped fighting. With one final tug, he hissed quietly in the man's ear, "_I_ control _you_." He removed the noose, and kicked the man's lifeless body to the ground.

He then, painfully, picked up the toy, and opened the cage door. He looked up, to find the girl staring at him in horror. She seemed unsure about what to say or how to react.

"I am Antoinette. Wh-what is your name?" she finally spluttered.

He hesitated, and heard someone yelling. The girl's eyes widened. "Come! I know a place where you can hide!"

She grabbed his hand, and the two sprinted desperately through the dark Parisian streets, paying no heed to the cries behind them.

The boy clutched his side, willing himself to keep running. It hurt, now that the initial rush was gone, and he could hardly breathe with the agony of it. The girl stopped abruptly, at a floor level window of a very large building.

"This leads to the basements of the Opera Populaire, you should be able to hide there. I am training for the ballet here. You should be safe for awhile." She whispered, trying to catch her breath.

The shouts of a mob seemed closer.

The boy pushed open the window, meeting little resistance. "Erik."

The girl started. "What?"

"My name is Erik."

He closed the window behind him as he slid into the darkness.


End file.
